JPo and I have had many ups and a few downs in our 2 year relationship. There have been fights (most recently the infamous "Baked Beans" debacle of 2010) and even more moments of glee (like just about anytime I come home from work with a bag of Sour Patch Kids and a tabloid for her). But one date remains the same: "The Incident".
We don't talk a lot about that day -- it's painful and brings up awkward moments of silence and mean glares -- like when you are in a crowded elevator and someone "naturally scents" the ride for 10 floors. The Incident was a torrid moment to be sure, but it had a long a bumpy runway and turbulent flight leading up to the crash landing.
What was "The Incident" you say? The day I kinda broke her dog's leg. Before I tell you about it, let me give you the background.
JPo has a
satanic beastmaster good-for-nothing Weiner dog named Lucifer "Huck Finn" -- or "Huck" for short. When she was single living in van down by the river , Huck was all she had. By their nature, dachshunds are one-person dogs, alpha-males, territorial, and extremely moody. You know - like a Guido from Jersey Shore at a Paul Mitchell hair products convention. Huck prefers women to men, and ruled the castle at JPo's -- eating from the table, sleeping in the bed, sitting on the furniture, running the TiVo, getting food, water, potty breaks at all hours of the night, and generally getting to pick and choose which pieces of furniture / carpet / clothing / plant life was to be spared, and which ones should be shredded, urinated on, pooped on, or used as a chew toy. He was spoiled. Uber-spoiled.
Additionally, Huck has a bladder control problem. Check that -- Huck has a 30 gallon bladder and a spigot that won't shut off completely. He wets so much NOAA tried to categorize him as a tropical depression. Look at him wrong, make eye contact, walk in the room, sneeze, scratch your nose, blink, or think about blinking -- he wets. Yesterday alone I cleaned up pee 5 times, JPo 3 times, and WE BOTH WORK AWAY FROM HOME AND THE DOGS STAY OUTSIDE!! The kids and I affectionately call him, "Pee-Diddy," or "Pee-Willy", or "Pee-Meister", or "@#*!%" (not PG-13 material).
Now, don't tell JPo, but he is kinda cute. And very soft. And L-O-V-E-S JPo and my daughter immensely. He's weird, for sure, but I can see redeeming qualities in him
as a meal for a Phillipino family . But JPo and I have had more scuffles about Huck than any other subject. I grew up that dogs were like movable lawn furniture: great fun for the outdoors. (And now we have 3 dogs!!!!) Huck and I have clashed from the get-go --> because I love to antagonize him (it's so fun because he thinks he's such a little prince and get's so perturbed when I pester him!), and because I AM THE ALPHA MALE of my house. Because of me, Huck can no longer be on the furniture. Because of me, he isn't allowed around us during meal time. Because of me he stays outside during the day. Because of me his momma is distracted and no longer makes him the center of the universe. Because of me, he actually has to go number one (even though he still pees inside at the thought of the drop of a hat) and number two outside; he now has two step-brother dogs to compete with (a Sheltie and a Basset Hound); and he has to fear for his life that I'll put lemon juice in his mouth if he sleeps with his mouth open. He has to mind me -- or there are consequences. In his mind, I am the Taliban, Al Qaida, Adolf Hitler, and "The Situation" all rolled into one.
So now ‘The Incident'. I came home from work, went outside on the back patio to greet
get molested by the dogs. I know, now, to greet Huck outside and let the yellow River Jordan flow before bringing him inside. Except he cowers -- and then he squats in his pee. Given he had pee all over his belly, I got a towel and picked him up shoulder height to clean him off. At some point, a mouse farted or something sooooo scary in Huck's world that he flipped out, flipped over my shoulder, and landed awkwardly on his leg. He shrieked, ran outside, and hid under a bush. "Oh well," I thought. "I tried. Enjoy Bush Gardens." But when JPo got home, Huck screamed like a Justin Bieber fan and revealed a hurt leg that turned out to be broken. Doctor's office, cast on, mad wife, none for me that night. I guess it didn't help that when our vet told us it would be $1800, I countered with "Are you kidding me??!? How much cheaper would it be just to put him down??!?"
Huck recovered and he and I have reached a good working relationship. And that's the thing - in any relationship, you have to compromise. I love JPo dearly, so for me, a HUGE compromise is letting PEE-DIDDY sleep in the bed with us each night and she compromises by not covering my nose and mouth with duct tape during sleep as she remembers "The Incident". Huck still grates on me at times, and he gets back at me by staring at me with a look that would make a train back-up and take a dirt road. But deep down, if something happened to JPo, I would take care of Huck. I promise --
I would make some Phillipino family's day because JPo loves Huck, I love JPo, and I'm trying my best to see a way to love Huck too -- even if I have to look through yellow-stained (pee) glasses.